


Fortune Favors the Few

by IHeartSnuffles



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blood and Gore, Danger, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Poetry, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHeartSnuffles/pseuds/IHeartSnuffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Royalty AU (Pinescone endgame) set between the two kingdoms of Ciphirous and Fortuna</p><p>Wirt and Greg have never gotten along, well Wirt doesn't try his best to be an understanding older brother. The night of Hallow's Eve, Wirt's friends enact an old village test of bravery on the eldest brother: enter the Unknown Forest after dusk and emerge unscathed before dawn. Seems easy enough, especially with the aid of Beatrice and Lorna.</p><p>However there's been stories and rumors that there are bandits lying wait in the darkness, waiting to snatch up anyone who crosses the border that cuts through the wood. And those who stray from the path are forever cursed to wander the forest, at the mercy of the "Beast"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh geez this'll be the death of me, but here's my biggest contribution to the Pinescone fandom: a really in-depth and adventurous magical fantasy realm AU
> 
> here we go oh gosh, lemme know if y'all like it!

Flames consumed everything in their path, the screams of servants and horses filled the air as the crackle and crash of the support beams echoed through the courtyard. Gargoyles crumbled, their heads falling and exploding on the cobblestone, inciting more hysteria as lifeless eyes peered from stony brows, eyes watching a young woman with burned clothes and a small bundle. Her coughs were quiet, stifled so as to not burden the swaddled young in her arms.

 

Her feet moved faster than her thoughts, her mind still stuck in the room with her husband. She’d left him lying cold and lifeless on their bed, surrounded in flame. The flames had curled up the wall like gnarled tree branches, reaching for her. But she was too fast, sweeping their child into her arms and escaping out a secret passage behind her armoire. All their things, burning alongside her beloved.

 

But she could not stop. Her child was too important to fall into _their_ hands. Only a handful of months old, and with that age held a title that she could only dream of; seeing her child one day in such a position of power, she would make sure _no one_ would stand in their way towards a better life.

 

The woman held the bundle closer to her, eyes darting around before she noticed a trail leading into the forest. A chance to escape. Her heart raced as she crept alongside the dirt road, keeping to the shadows and the trees as the screams and destruction faded from earshot. As silence enveloped them, the woman felt a familiar weight shift, her lips turning up into a sad smile. Her child had found the pendant, and was clasping it tight in their small, pudgy fist.

 

“I’m so sorry… I promise, you’ll be safe my love.” She pressed a small kiss to her child’s forehead, the babe gurgling a small happy noise; unaware that their home was nearly burnt to the ground and their family nearly wiped out. A carriage rolled by, the woman carefully hiding behind a tree as the rickety wheels and horse’s hoofs rumbled along past.

 

Following pursuit, the woman quickly found a small village she’d only been faintly acquainted with during her travels, delighted in something familiar. As she started towards the town center, her coughs returned tenfold, making her drop to her knees in exhaustion.

 

“Please… help my child…” She managed between gasps and coughs, townsfolk flocking around her in concern and worry as she collapsed. The cries of her child pierced the air, a single black cat staring balefully into the distance where the red glow of a faraway fire began to fade.


	2. Prologue 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain Emperor calls for a parley (or a part-ay really)

“Your Majesty, your reports on the income of the kingdom. There’s a hearing today for the complaints, and the lines are very long.” The poor man just wanted to get the message across, he wasn’t the bad news himself. He stood stock still under his Emperor’s gaze, eyes unfocused but staring at his feet.

 

“HA, you look like you’re about to soil yourself… Sal was it? Calm down, I’m not going to kill you. At least not yet, anyways.” His Emperor let out a laugh that chilled him down to his toes, the man stiffly nodding and only loosening his posture by a hair. “Anyways, how’s the old kingdom doin? We still living it up across the land?”

 

“The newly lowered peasants supply the cities with the food and drink, and citizens still ‘party’ as you commanded. I hate to um, be the bearer of bad news, but the rebellion took over another city today.” The images of the looting and rioting that had befallen the kingdom were burned into his mind, bodies littering the landscape as people frolicked under no control. Ever since his Emperor took over, there’d been anarchy where loyalty and trust had been with the previous ruler. Those who were frowned upon in society were elevated to incredible status, anyone who objected was slaughtered on site.

 

It was a perfect land for a man with one eye and a penchant for chaos.

 

“That… Beast guy was it? Him and his highwaymen are STILL in the fray? Ciphirous has been in a boom of prosperity for YEARS now, how on earth is that rebellion so selfish?” There was an uncharacteristic pause as suddenly his Emperor sank deep into thought, moving his posture so he was sitting up straight, his black robes heavily accented with gold.

 

“Uh, your Majesty-?”

 

“I LIKE it! Write ‘em up a personal invite, Stue. I wanna see this rebellion leader in a parley, get to know him. Let’s see if he’s just as much of a freak as the rumors say he is.” His Emperor grinned, the filed sharp points of his teeth sending shivers down the man’s spine. There was a terror, an open look of glee in his Emperor’s eye, that terrified the man most of all.

 

He gestured and a piece of paper flew from across the room, a quill and bottle of ink appearing in a flare of blue fire. “Go on, write it for me. Tell ‘em that my castle is OPEN for his folk to visit me, and if they have any ideas on spreading the party to the neighboring kingdom, then DON’T BE A STOOGE and hop on over!” His Emperor let out another laugh, this one even longer than the one before. Once the man had finished the letter, he presented it to his Emperor with quivering hands.

 

“Y-Your Majesty, the letter is done. All you need to do is sign.”

 

His Emperor glanced down at the man who was kneeling before him, his face going still for a moment before he let out a shrill laugh and swung his hand forward to grab the letter. He glanced down at the sheet, nodding to himself as he quickly read the letter with approval.

 

“Excellent, it just needs a little… Aha! Sam, you’re just what this letter needs. BLOOD!” His cackle made the man seize up in fear, reaction too late as a sword swung forward and lopped his head off, blood splattering all over the place. It landed onto the robes of his Emperor, whose grin had not shifted even a little as he stood up and dabbed the letter with the blood of his slain servant. His hair was soaked at the ends from the spray, long blonde locks dripping with the splattered blood, his soulless golden eye sparkling with glee.

 

“Perfect. Add a signature aaaand… There! Too bad on… what was his name again? Ah WHO CARES! Guards! I have an invitation to send out, call forth my new court and let’s PARTY with the complainers!” His Emperor kicked over the body, watching it roll down the steps to his throne as the doors to his throne room opened. He sat back down, licking the blood off his fingers as his guards approached the throne with fear. His kingdom was gonna learn how to enjoy chaos and carnage, _whether they liked it or NOT_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yet another prologue, but in order to set the mood I gotta show u the shit I'm dreamin up with this AU
> 
> Feel free to check out my tumblr: http://iheartpkmn.tumblr.com


	3. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so our tale begins in a small village on the outskirts of the kingdom of Fortuna, with two young boys on the night of Hallow's Eve

Leaves swirled amidst the dust on the ground, dried and colored with the onset of autumn. A soft fiddle was heard in the distance as a young man in a stained shirt and breeches swept the front plot of his family’s small cottage. Children ran gleefully in the road outside his home’s fence, other small ramshackle houses and lean-tos decorated the lane. Pumpkins dotted the doorways, lit with torches and carved into fearful grins. Hallow’s Eve was tonight, the village childrens’ favorite festival of the fall. A night of masquerade for all ages, and a night of frights for the brave.

 

“Greg! Are you nearly done with cleaning the waste bucket? I need to use it.” The young man called back towards his home, sweeping the leaves and dirt into a pile before turning around to check on his brother. Who, as luck would have it, wasn’t cleaning the bucket; the younger brother was instead sitting in the dirt with a pile of sticks and rocks, trying to draw some misshapen figure in the dampened clay.

 

“Wirt! Tell Mr. Blueberry he needs to stand still or I’ll never be able to catch his portrait in the medium.” Greg looked up at his older brother, Wirt, with a sweet smile, pointing at a blue beetle that was sitting on a leaf nearby. He was a short, pudgy little boy in dirty gray overalls that their mother had made for him, his chestnut hair contrasting with his older brother’s dark brown hair. Both of them had the same eyes as their mother, but where Greg had roundness Wirt had none, the young man almost thin as a fencepost and nearly twice as tall as his younger brother.

 

“So _that_ is what you’ve been doing this entire time? It’s past midday and you’ve done none of your chores!” Wirt groaned, brow furrowed as he reached past his brother to grab the still-full waste bucket. “Mom’s told you a hundred times, you can’t go play until your tasks are finished. Now I’ve gotta do your chores for you in order for either of us to get to celebrate tonight. Go slop the hogs or finish the sweeping. Do something useful for once.”

 

“But this is useful! What if hundreds of years from now, someone happens to find my amazing likeness of this young beetle?” Greg stood up and trotted after his brother, waving his arms excitedly at the thought. “They’ll marvel at the kind of wildlife we’ve had these years during the drought! And at my art skills, Wirt!”

 

“Greg. Go grab the broom, and if I don’t see you sweeping in the next five seconds so help me, I’m going to walk over there and rub my foot through your ‘likeness’ or whatever.” Wirt glared down at Greg coldly, his lips set in a tight line. “I’m not kidding. Go.”

 

“You’re such a grouch sometimes brother, and I still love you anyways.” Greg saluted and waddled over to the discarded broom, humming softly with a grin. He picked up the broom and immediately started drawing circles in the dust with it, making an even bigger mess to Wirt’s chagrin.

 

“A grouch I may be, but at least I get the tasks done. Sorta.” Wirt mumbled, taking the waste bucket and tossing it into the compost pile. Once it was completely emptied he sauntered back over to his pile of leaves and scooped them into the pail. He was so busy picking up the leaves he didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching their makeshift gate and the rattling of the gate until it was too late. A strong arm plucked him up by the scruff of his shirt, prompting a near-shriek from the young man.

 

“HOLY-“

 

“Still working on your chores, Wirt? Figures.” There was a pause before a snorting laugh was heard. “Who even picks up every single leaf by hand?”

 

When Wirt looked up, he saw a familiar redhead standing over him, his face heating up. “Shut up Beatrice, put me down already.” Upon release he landed face-first in the dirt, prompting giggles from Beatrice, Wirt sending her a dirty look as he stood up and dusted himself off. “What’s going on?”

 

Sara popped out from behind Beatrice with a smile and waved, “Oh man Wirt you’ll never guess what the guys and I have planned tonight for the Hallow’s Eve celebration. I tagged along with Beatrice to invite you to come with us for our graveyard meeting.” Sara was talking to him, her eyes bright and dark hair glistening in the afternoon sun. Wirt was almost speechless, he hadn’t even noticed his beloved Sara standing beside Beatrice, her radiant beauty warming Wirt’s cheeks.

 

“It’s n-nice to see you Sara! What’s this about a meeting?” Wirt couldn’t look away, the invitation barely registering as he nodded and smiled at the girl of his dreams. Bored by Wirt’s sudden change in disposition, Beatrice sauntered over to where Greg was still attacking the dirt with the broom that was much to big for him, pulling the young boy into a hug.

 

“Hey Greg, need some help with the pigs?” Beatrice rubbed her fist into Greg’s hair with an affectionate laugh, Greg giggling and nodding.

 

“Yeah, Wirt’s nearly done with his chores and gave me an extra chore since I was too busy painting the esteemed portrait of the local fauna for the future. Science will have to wait I guess.” He shrugged, Beatrice staring down at the small boy with confusion and amusement before she let go of Greg and strode over to the pig pen. She grabbed the trough with ease and swung it up over the side of the pen, causing a few pigs to squeal in surprise.

 

“Well that sounds lame of him to interrupt your art, very much like Wirt. Where’s the scraps?”

 

“Oh they’re over here! I’ll grab them.” Greg tottered over to the front door, navigating around his love-struck older brother with a full pail of scraps and bringing them back to dump into the trough. “There we go! Can you put it back in the pen now?”

 

“Sure thing!” Beatrice hefted the trough back over the fence and dusted her hands off on her skirt as the pigs began to eat, walking back over with Greg to a very flustered Wirt and a laughing Sara. “What’d we miss?”

 

“Wirt’s got a costume this year! But he won’t tell me what it is, even though I told him mine.” Sara wiped a tear from her eye and grinned at Wirt, who almost audibly gulped. “Anyways, I’m gonna head back to see what Funderberker and the others are up to. Last I heard he was helping prepare the feast for tonight. I’ll catch you later then, Wirt?”

 

“S-Sure! See you then, the uh.. graveyard, right? After dusk?” Wirt’s voice pitched up for a moment, making Beatrice snort quietly into her hand, and he wrung his hands behind his back with an anxious smile.

 

“Yeah! Get there after the feast if you can, if not then don’t worry about it. Can’t wait to see you there, though! Bye Greg!” Sara waved and excitedly dashed out the gate, already hollering at a few other teens she’d seen down the path.

 

“Like ebony that gnarls and twists around my beating heart, I ache to forever show the innermost turmoil of longing that emanates from this lonesome soul…” Wirt sighed wistfully as he watched Sara go, almost completely ignoring the hand waving in front of his eyes.

 

“Wirt. WIRT. Cheese and crackers… We have to tell your Mother that your chores are done. And also, I know for a fact that you have no costume whatsoever. You’re such a pushover.” Beatrice shoved Wirt with a smirk, folding her arms and leaning on the fence. Her blouse was slightly stained from the pig slop but she didn’t care, the brown of her shirt and dark skirt easily masking the stain. “You’re lucky I worked for that old crone Adelaide for so long, my sewing skills are indispensable in your hour of need. I can help you with your last second disguise if need be.”

 

Wirt spun around and let out a soft noise of despair, his hands digging into his hair and tugging at the strands anxiously. “Oh god. Oh god, oh god Beatrice what am I going to DO I don’t have a costume, o-or a plan or any- wait what?” He paused mid-panic as her words registered, straightening up from hunching over himself. “You’re going to help me?”

 

Beatrice scoffed, standing up and loping an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Of course, it’s painful watching you get embarrassed by anyone else but me or your brother. I’ll help you with small parts of your costume, but you need to first calm your butt down and tell your mother that you’re done.” She placed a hand on Greg’s head, taller than even Wirt, and guided the boys inside with a well-timed kick to the door. “G’afternoon Mrs. Fa- I mean Ms. Evelyn. Wirt stop clawing at my arm you idiot.”

 

“Wirt, how many times must I say not to… Oh hello Beatrice dear!” The rich aroma of baked goods was wafting from the small stove where Wirt and Greg’s mother was stirring a pot and pulling a pastry from a small stone oven. “Are you all done with your chores then?”

 

“Yeah mom! We’re ready to get our sweets!” Greg pumped a fist in the air, jostling Beatrice and Wirt to the side to avoid getting hit in the small entryway. After wiping their feet off on the rough horsehair mat, the trio sat down at the table in the kitchen area. “Also, Wirt’s finally gonna have a costume this year!”

 

“Oh really now? Is that correct, Wirt?” Their mother sounded amused as she returned her focus back to cooking, blowing a few strands of her dark brown hair out of her face. She carefully stirred her stew that she planned to serve her boys during the feast, as well as keeping a close eye on the pies cooling in the windowsill and cooking in the oven.

 

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s uh, not true? Beatrice is helping me out with a last minute idea.” He paused, eyes going unfocused as he noticed red fabric sticking out from his mother’s sewing kit. “Mom… do we still have all that old stuff in the trunk in the storeroom?” Wirt’s voice took on a strange tone as he stared at the fabric, Beatrice giving Wirt a confused look as his mother turned around and gave him a smile.

 

“Why yes, the old army cloak and fabrics that my grandmother gave me are all in there. You’re more than welcome to look around in there, and I washed your Sunday clothes if you’d like to put those on as well.” The sparkle in Wirt’s eye sent a pang through Evelyn, her flour-dusted hand curling into her dress. 

 

“Thanks Mom! Beatrice, grab that scrap of red fabric out of the kit and follow me. I’ve got a plan. Or at least part of a plan.” Wirt stood up abruptly and dashed out towards the back storage room, Greg cheering and clambering down from his chair to follow suit.

 

Beatrice rolled her eyes with a grin, “Aye aye, Greg go and get your costume on. The festival’s about to begin, you can’t go without your costume too!” Beatrice leaned down to meet Greg’s eye once he’d gotten down from his chair, the young boy nodding impatiently with a quick salute.

 

“Alright! Mom, can I borrow your teapot? And I’ll need my green overalls, oh boy this is so exciting! I wish it could be Hallow’s Eve every day! Free food and sweets, and games!” Greg waved his arms and ran towards his bedroom, not even waiting for a reply from his thoroughly amused mother.

 

“Don’t make too much of a mess, Gregory!” Evelyn called out, dousing the flame under the pot and covering the stew with a plate. She scooped up the pastries and deposited them into a large handkerchief, wrapping them up and balancing them atop the makeshift lid. She dusted her hands off into a rag hanging on the wall, and turned to Beatrice. “Can you and Lorna keep my boys out of too much trouble tonight? A bluebird flew by the window today and I can only hope it’s a sign of good fortune.” The look on Wirt's face when he'd dashed out was all too familiar to her, and unfortunately it had been years since she’d last seen it.

 

Beatrice stood up and looked Evelyn in the eye, noticing the lines and dark circles under her eyes. She nodded furiously, “Bluebird, schmubird. Lorna and I will do our best Ms. E.” Beatrice couldn’t help but grin and salute Evelyn like Greg had done for her, before quickly grabbing the kit and walking briskly towards the back room where Wirt’s mumbling could be heard.

 

“A flight of ravens in my dreams, a thousand lights of blight it seems… That once the sky becomes blacker than oil, the darkest of whims begin to toil.” Wirt’s voice was hushed as Beatrice entered the room, the young man sitting cross-legged reading a tome of sorts that he’d found in the chest buried beneath sacks of nonperishable foods and possessions. “What does that mean… Oh Beatrice glad you could make it. Look at this book I found.”

 

“Is it a poetry book?” An unsure nod from Wirt told Beatrice all she needed to know. “No thank you, poetry’s more Lorna’s style. Keep it so when we all meet outside you can show it to her. You said you had a plan?”

 

“Sort of. Can you fashion a hat from that fabric? It doesn’t have to be fancy or anything, just something to grab attention I guess.” Wirt shrugged and gave Beatrice an apologetic smile when she gave him the stink eye. “I know I’m wishy-washy, don’t remind me. You can pick the hat style, I don’t care.” He set down the mysterious tome and pulled out a large blue cloak with golden buttons from the open chest, his eyes lighting up. “Aha! Perfect!”

 

“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, let’s hope you actually don’t chicken out this time.” Beatrice scoffed as she pulled out the sewing supplies, threading her needle and pulling the crimson fabric out. Out of the corner of her eye, as she started to plan out the design, she noticed Wirt’s hair sticking straight up, the redhead chuckling as she began to form an idea. “Let’s make you a costume, Wirt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know if you like it, leave a comment or a kudos so I know y'all are enjoying this long mess :3c


	4. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of the festivities before nightfall, and the two brothers are each enjoying it in completely different contexts

“Beatrice, I-I don’t think this is such a good idea anymore.” Wirt tugged nervously on his collar, his starch white shirt and gray trousers made him feel stiff as a board. His step-father had come back from town only an hour ago, excited to see Wirt in the festive spirit and loaned his step-son his good pair of suspenders to help keep his new trousers up.

 

“Cheese and crackers, Wirt this is not the time to get cold feet.” Beatrice glared at Wirt from out the corner of her eye, the two walking into the village side by side. Her bright blue dress with soft yellow stars sewn into the hem was a real work of art, the sleeves puffed like the dresses only nobility could afford. Her hair was pulled up in delicate braids around a bun, fiery locks tamed for added nobility. Meanwhile, Wirt was dressed eclectically in a navy blue cape and an odd, cone-shaped crimson hat. “Just because you look like a gnome doesn’t mean you can go scurrying off like one.”

 

“But I’m not a gnome…” Wirt grumbled, tucking his arms under his cape as they walked. The smell of food was in the air, the succulent aroma of meat and vegetables wafting past them as they made it to the main square. A large table, made up of many boards stacked strategically, held all the food in a banquet of sorts. The villagers were cheering along to a merry band of bards, people young and old dressed up in homemade masks and their finest, gathering around small fire pits and sharing food together.

 

“Wowie! Look at all that food!” Greg yelled, his sudden appearance between the two prompting a squeak from Wirt. “I call dibs on that turkey leg!” He waddled ahead of his brother, his green overalls fresh pressed and their mother’s borrowed teapot sitting on his head.

 

“I still can’t believe he dressed up as an actual animal, meanwhile you’re standing here without a clue as to what you are. How will you scare off the spirits when you don’t even know who you’re masquerading as?” Beatrice nudged Wirt with her elbow, the two slowing to grab a few rolls and meat pasties.

 

“I still can’t believe he’s got a pot on his head.” Wirt shook his head with a small sigh, watching as Greg methodically began stuffing desserts into the pot on his head for safekeeping. “Mom’s too lenient with Greg, I swear… By the way, what exactly are you supposed to be?”

 

“Of course I’m the world famous noblewoman seamstress, Robin… Robin Azure. Her work is legendary and…” Beatrice paused for a moment, her face warming and eyes avoiding Wirt’s when she saw the small grin on his face. “Oh shut your gob.”

 

“I just asked a question, nothing more.” Wirt raised his hands in mock surrender with a shrug of his shoulders, chuckling when Beatrice leveled a glare at him. “Let’s agree we both kind of suck at planning costumes in advance?”

 

Beatrice smirked & nodded, “Sure. As long as it’s our secret that we’re actually terrible at planning ahead. Don’t want the others to know that I share similarities with you, Wirt.”

 

Wirt let out a gasp, feigning hurt and resting the back of his hand on his forehead in fake sadness, “Oh you wound me Madame Azure, I’m but a simple wanderer with his purpose in life scattered to the breeze. My plans work themselves out at the whimsy of the higher beings, having such rigor-bound thoughts will only end in panic.” He couldn’t help but snicker at the end, dropping his hand beneath his cape again.

 

“Ah so a lonely Pilgrim then? Is that who you are?” Beatrice waggled her eyebrows, taking a bite of her meat pasty and chewing slowly, swallowing before continuing. “I apologize, but as a stuffy noblewoman I cannot be on the same level as such a vagrant. My tastes are much more… refined?” She held up her pasty, eyes crinkling in amusement as Wirt began to laugh.

 

“Oh certainly, milady.” Wirt took a bite of his own pasty, screwing up his face into a light grimace. “Mine is but a spiced… mystery meat. Your meat must certainly be of a discernible origin. The woes of being a Pilgrim…”

 

“Heh, we’re a couple of real odd folks, aren’t we Wirt?” Beatrice smiled, finishing her food and dusting her hands off. Wirt nodded in response, finishing his food as well.

 

“Yeah, two peas in a pod I suppose. Thanks, y’know, for helping me with Greg and the costume fiasco. You didn’t have to earlier.” Wirt glanced over at Greg, who was now getting scolded by Old Lady Daniels for trying to stuff more than one pasty in his mouth at a time.

 

“Not a problem, that’s what friends are for.” Beatrice followed his line of sight to see Greg, smiling softly. “Hey… Wirt? How’ve you been holding up?”

 

“Holding up?” Wirt turned to Beatrice, confused for a moment before his eyes sparked with recognition. His entire demeanor seemed to shift, his expression crestfallen and eyes going dark. “Oh.”

 

“Oh? That doesn’t sound like you’re doing that well about it.” Beatrice glanced back, seeing his mood shift and frowning, “To be honest I don’t see what the problem is. He’s been your father for as long as you’ve been able to remember.”

 

“Yeah but.. he’s not MY father. He’s Greg’s father. My father died in some mysterious fire or something. Mom refuses to tell me where he used to live, she instead gave me the pendant that he left her before he died.” Wirt reached into his shirt to pull out the pendant, a golden teardrop with a crowned quill etched into the surface. “I want to know who my real father was, to be honest.”

 

“Heck, he could have been a noble for all we know. Or a hobo. Or some boring merchant.” Beatrice gave him a small smile, patting Wirt’s back. “I’m pulling your leg, sorry. You’ll get more info with time, I can betcha that. For now I’d hold onto that pendant, did your Mom say it was important?”

 

“Yes, she said it’d unlock more than just my family history eventually… What else it is, I have no clue. She proceeded to tickle- I mean uh, tell me another story to appease Greg when he came into the room. Nothing immature happened whatsoever.” Wirt winced at the large grin on Beatrice’s face, “Shut up.”

 

“I didn’t say anything. Anyways, have you seen Lorna yet? She said she’d be here to help with Greg but…” Beatrice scanned the crowd, sighing when she couldn’t see Lorna anywhere. “Nothing. Not a word since yesterday. I haven’t so much as even GLIMPSED her today.”

 

“Probably because I’m right here?” A soft voice and an even softer hand tapped Beatrice’s shoulder, inciting a squeak from Beatrice as Wirt held in his laughter. Behind them was Lorna, the innkeeper’s niece. She was a sweet little thing, dressed in a traditional purist dress with a white bonnet, her normal pale complexion painted an even brighter white. Her hazel eyes shone with mischief as she gave off a small giggle, Beatrice whipping around with a dark blush.

 

“Hasn’t your Auntie told you that it’s rude to sneak up on people!?” Beatrice scolded Lorna, her eyes flickering up and down to take in Lorna’s costume. “Oh man that’s such a nice dress Lorna, did you make that lacing on the apron yourself?”

 

“Speak for yourself.” Wirt grumbled, “You snuck up on me, it’s only fair.”

 

“Shut up Wirt, nobody asked you.” Beatrice shoved Wirt with a smirk, cheeks glowing. “How long have you been behind us?”

 

“Not long, actually. And yes, I made this dress myself with Auntie’s guidance. Now, I was wondering if you knew where Greg ran off to. He was just at the table and now he’s gone. I’m supposed to be watching him for your mother, but I didn’t see which way he went.” Lorna tilted her head towards the table, Wirt swiveling to see his brother had vanished.

 

“Oh no. Mother’s going to kill me!” Wirt glanced around, letting out a gasp when he saw the shine of a teapot merrily bouncing towards the edge of the festivities. “Greg!” He dashed around the crowd, Beatrice and Lorna following closely. “Greg how many times do I have to tell you, don’t wander off! You could have- woah! I-I’m so sorry, Sara.” Wirt nearly collided with Sara, who seemed to be wrapping up a conversation with his younger brother. “Was Greg bothering you?”

 

“Oh there you are Wirt! Hey, Beatrice and Lorna can come too!” Greg turned to see his brother and friends, happily waddling in circles with a handful of sweets. “What’s going on everyone? What’s all this hullabaloo?” Greg looked up at Wirt, who was out of breath and glaring at him. “And why is my brother looking so crossly at me?”

 

“Greg, you ran off again and scared your brother.” Lorna placed a hand in front of Wirt, who looked about ready to blow, her voice soft but stern. “Next time please tell us when you’re deciding to go on ahead. And what is this about Beatrice and I accompanying you?”

 

“Oh I can explain that!” Sara interjected, her face paint giving her a fierce maw of a lion. “Remember the invitation I gave you guys earlier? Oh Lorna, I meant to ask you before but I missed you. Funderberker and the others went ahead to the graveyard already since it’s dusk, but we’re having a séance and rite of passage challenge soon. We found some old texts in the church, with the description of an amazing test of courage. You’re welcome to join us!”

 

“Oh I… don’t think that would be such a good idea. Greg needs to be home before dark, Evelyn said so. I’ll have to um, pass on the festivities.” Lorna’s cheeks glowed with embarrassment, dropping the hand in front of Wirt to gently rest on Greg’s shoulder. “Greg your mother will be worried sick if you stay out too late.”

 

“Aw beans, but Wirt gets to go! Why can’t I?” Greg scuffed his shoe into the dirt, looking longingly up at his older brother. Wirt crossed his arms, directing his gaze at a nearby tree. Almost crestfallen, Greg tore his gaze from Wirt to Lorna, giving her his strongest dose of sweet, sad puppy dog eyes. “Please, Lorna? Pretty please?”

 

Lorna giggled softly, shaking her head. “No, I’m sorry Greg. We can enjoy the company of friends in the morning, for now let’s get you back home. Evelyn will probably want to know how well you snuck your pastries into your teapot.”

 

As Lorna led Greg back towards the festivities, Greg took one last look at Wirt, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. But Wirt coldly ignored his brother, not even saying a word of goodbye. Greg’s lips dropped into a sad frown, his teapot soon unable to be seen amongst the thrall of people.

 

“And the brother of the evening seems to be… Wirt, congratulations you’re absolutely great.” Beatrice grumbled, shoving Wirt slightly. “C’mon, you can’t even say goodnight to Greg?”

 

“He scared me, and ran off. He was trying to stay out past bedtime. I’m not going to give him any more leeway for these kinds of things. He’s already a pain in my rear during the daytime, I don’t need him bothering Lorna too.” Wirt sighed, “I apologize for my rudeness. Ah, Sara, are we going to do the séance first or the challenge?”

 

“O-Oh yeah, we’re going to do the séance first. I didn’t want to um, worry Lorna about this but we found a weird little bell figure by her home. It was half buried in the field behind the inn, Jackson said he found it and dug it up. So we’re going to see if it’s haunted or something. The thing almost looks like Lorna in her costume, to be honest.” Sara blinked and smiled, trying to help smooth out the tension.

 

“That sounds kind of creepy.” Wirt’s expression seemed to slowly shift to an uneasy grimace as the trio walked towards the edge of the village, the moon starting to glow brighter as the sun began to set. “I uh, I’m not too fond of ghosts and the like, so I’ll probably sit this one out. Beatrice did you want to participate in the séance?”

 

“Probably. My family has a ton of history in this town, what with all my family members. Maybe I’ll find one of their ghosts and ask them?” Beatrice kicked a rock, the stone making a dull thud against a slowly rotting fence. “Oh woah, this place looks incredibly different at night. Were those scratch marks always there?”

 

They had reached the edge of the village in a matter of seconds, the fence a reminder of the possible dangers of leaving. Claw marks and unknown stains littered the wood, a crooked sign written in messy black ink.

 

**BE-WARE OF THE UNKNOWN**

 

“Oh isn’t the… Unknown Forest on the edge of the graveyard?” Wirt swallowed dryly, tugging at his collar again out of nervousness. “M-Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

 

“Aw come on Wirt! You promised to come, it’ll mostly just be us telling stories and the like. You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to, but I was really hoping you’d come.” Sara turned and gave Wirt a small smile. Wirt’s heart began to beat faster, his knees weak at the sight.

 

“I’ll only go if Wirt’s okay with it.” Beatrice added, but kept silent as Wirt struggled to answer, his cheeks ruddy and hands gesturing with a nervous lilt. His cape flapped a little in the slight breeze that had picked up, the moon suddenly bright in the sky as clouds began to drift away.

 

“I uh… Okay, okay I promised. But nothing too dangerous. It’ll just be us, our friends, having a little f-fun in the graveyard. By the Unknown. Nothing _that_ bad could happen… right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know if you like it, leave a comment or a kudos so I know y'all are enjoying this long mess :3c and send me asks & stuff on my tumblr iheartpkmn.tumblr.com if you'd like to know more about Ciphirous and Fortuna (and the Unknoooooown~)

**Author's Note:**

> Please lemme know if you wanna see this continue!


End file.
